The Girl Who Never Knew
by ellequoi
Summary: A man's posthumous love for the girl who never knew changes both of their lives when his diary is found. Completed.
1. Default Chapter

**The Girl Who Never Knew**

I found a diary today. 

Of course, I didn't mean to look at it. The Sorting Hat _told_ me I could have gone into any house. I _am_ honest, really... 

But it did bother me. The whole day, I couldn't think about anything else. Nothing had ever bothered me so much–well, except Viktor Krum, telling me he liked him. I had been so distracted that year. 

Even with a logical mind, it took me a long time to figure out why such a little thing had such effect on me. It was my curiosity speaking; I wanted the diary to have something about me in it, and I wanted so badly to know what it was. 

Because how bad, really, could it have been? 

It would have belittled the confidante of someone's precious thoughts to just crack it open for a bit of light reading; I couldn't have done that. Instead, I made a ceremony of it. The witching hour, the astronomy tower, a snowy night. 

I waited for the perfect day, my thoughts useless preoccupied until the day it snowed. But by then, I had waited too long. Too much suspense had built up an unhealthy obsession. If I did not open it soon, it was likely I could not concentrate on my work, and that was a catastrophic consequence. 

So, full of excuses, I made up my mind. That night, I could eat no supper from excitement. Passing a mirror, I noted my flushed, hot cheeks. The introduction of some excitement in my life was amazing. Perhaps–and I tried hard to keep myself from thinking so–it made me look pretty. 

The absence of snogging couples in the tower was a welcome relief. Realizing how hot my apprehension was making me, I took off my robes and crouched against the floor. 

"_Lumos_," I whispered, my voice coming out crackling and parched. 

Like with a good book, I prepared to immerse myself into a different, yet familiar world: 

_____ 

Yesterday I was captivated in romance, why not so today? No matter. When things drift off there is nothing to be done. I can do nothing but feel sorry for the girl who never knew. Though how she could have remained oblivious, I do not know. I stared at her whenever I could and ignored her steadfastly when I could bring myself to. 

Alas, I have inherited yet another of my father's traits, it seems. Somehow I have grown up but my tastes in women have not. But my genetic traits are not important right now. I am worried by my sudden waning intrigue with her. Months I have thought of little else, living automatically to retreat into my brain–and now, all that gone? 

All for the best, however: she is safe. Like a starving artist betraying his creative urges, it is best that I should resist this kind of thing. 

Resistance is like a pesticide. It kills those urges that stifle you. 

_____ 

I looked up, startled by a nearby noise. When it turned out to be nothing, I relaxed. 

The eloquent style of the writing fascinated me, and even more the mysterious, loved girl who never knew. There was maroon inscriptions similar to those found on runes heading every page, and I realized it was someone's personal tenet. 

Thinking about the writer, I realized that such a diary was the perfect opportunity to ensnare me as a pawn for Dark Arts. The possibility frightened me for a moment, but then I guiltily returned to reading: 

_____ 

Today, I was reminded of the sad state of affairs that have presented themselves to me. Professor Dumbledore asked me if I had ever been engaged before. 

I thought back to three beautiful, well-received rings. 

"No," I told him, and he seemed to understand. 

If I had not spent these last several years loving her, I would be married. My wife would be swathed in fur, and my children would be spoiled. Have I really wasted all this time? I could have had a life. Until I noticed her, I had been about to quit teaching, retreat far away and cater to my own selfish needs. Instead, I am still at Hogwarts, the dead-end job that does nothing but feed you. Not to say there is anything wrong with being fed. 

I remember coming to Hogwarts for the first time, so hungry I fainted briefly trying on the Sorting Hat. Then, we started to eat and it was heaven! I had never seen so much food in my life. 

Still, I have not the heart to blame my unwelcome lingering at Hogwarts on her. This is no fault of hers–a tragedy forced upon her, rather. The one thing I could not bear would be to have her find out. To kill that innocence and replace it with mistrust of men, forever. 

During my lesson today, I wondered if I have disciples. If I do, what do I teach them? How to ruin their hair? How to take the perfect qualities of generations before you and pretend they don't exist in you? 

Or maybe I teach them how to destroy their urges and hide their feelings. They can do without that when she graduates and I can leave this place forever. 

The other day, someone from Knockturn Alley sent me one of those potions for fame. Perhaps they were only hoping I could dispose of it (and so I did), but if not, perhaps it was a joke. Who would want to know me? 

Today I am isolated from the world. It is Sunday and I am at Mass, suited respectably in expensive Muggle clothing that improves my look somewhat. Not enough (never enough), but a cathedral does not judge your aesthetics. 

I didn't know what to pray for, so I prayed for her. It felt strange; now that I've stopped loving her it seems her life is improved. 

But she never knew. 

Never mind that. I must go to the kitchens and tell them I will not be attending supper. A beautiful woman asked me at the door to come to the cathedral later and confess. When faced by such a face, I couldn't have refused. Perhaps it is a sign of restlessness in me that I should start to notice this sort of thing. 

I almost regret it now, but confessing has always been such a way to purge the soul. I think I have committed too many sins for one visit. What they are I know not, but there is sometimes a sinking feeling in me that I am crooked. 

I _know_ I am at heart a protagonist, I must be. 

_____ 

I had not read very far into the journal when I heard footsteps. Panicking, I barely had time to stuff the diary into my robes and turn off my wand. 

"Who's there?" demanded a familiar, most unwelcome voice. "_Lumos!_" 

Light illuminated the pale, surprised face of Professor Snape and threw it into relief. 

"Miss Granger? What could you be doing up here?" 

"Well," I said slowly, lost for words, "I–" 

"If you didn't have an excuse to begin with, it's too late to make one up now." He took out a scrap of parchment and touched his wand to it. Words began to form. 

He handed the parchment to me and I took it resignedly, knowing my fate. 

"Here," he said, "don't forget." 

Although I shouldn't have been, I was distraught. I couldn't remember ever having a detention ever before. 

"Oh, don't cry," he snapped. "You think I'd waste time putting it on your perfect, virginal record?" He looked at me a second more, disgusted, and added, "Shouldn't you be leaving now?" 

He followed me the whole excruciating way back to the common room and stalked off wordlessly with a yawn. 

The next morning, I woke up early as usual. As if it was something shameful, I hurried my regular schedule. Today I had a childlike impatience; I wanted to read the diary I found. 

Shaking my robes to get it out, something else fell out as well. I remembered my detention and grimaced. If this paper saw the light of day I was sure I would be teased. I picked both the paper and the book up at the same time and, by chance, glanced at them. 

I'm sure it had been obvious–all those hints, was I so dense? –but I hadn't ever thought of such a thing. _The writing matched_. Q. E. D., the man in love was Severus Snape. 

To me, it was pathetic. I condemned myself for taking my mother's view in that if someone was ugly, they were required to be good, but that was how I regarded Professor Snape. A man who had not lived up to his end of the bargain with us under his care. A man who, like an omniscient corporation, was sadistic and evil, spending years exacting punishment on the commoners. 

As usual, I was caught up in a cause where the end result would not be a happy one. Snape's unbelievable diary instilled in me a sudden interest in him–and even more, in the girl who never knew she was loved by such anathema. 

And so I picked up the diary calmly and continued to read through it. 

At dinner that day, I made excuses to leave early. The insatiable curiosity of my friends was not satiated. 

"Why?" asked Ron. "Going off to the library?" He snickered. 

Hesitating for a minute, I considered telling him the truth, but the burden of the long story made me feel weary and reluctant. Ron's derision at my personality and habits did not help matters. 

"Yes," I said, "off to the library. There's an Arithmancy book that I need to read." I stood up to leave the table. "Don't bother looking for me." 

I wondered if Ron was scorning me as I left. 

Arriving grudgingly early at the dungeons, I expected Professor Snape to be in his office. Unexpectedly, he was inside the classroom instead, marking papers. A poor light shone from above him, making his hair shine blue-black. Like, I thought uncharitably, a bruise; exactly like him. 

"I'm here now," I said flatly, prepared to make my first detention an unpleasant experience. 

He looked up, his face moulding into a sneer. "Now I won't have to wait with such bated breath. You were early, but it won't make your detention end prematurely." He strode towards where I was and shoved several papers at me. "Do these." 

They were tests. "What if I give the Gryffindors more marks then the Slytherins, sir?" 

"You won't," he said, "because maintaining the perfection of your Potions mark depends on it." 

I seethed and marked the tests prudently in silence. When I was sure Professor Snape was ignoring me, I laid down my quill. 

"You've lost something," I said, "haven't you?" 

His head jerked up irritably. "All manners of things, Miss Granger. Why aren't you working?" 

Although I knew how many points I could lose my house, I was determined to continue. 

"Your diary," I said, "I found it." 

He stared at me impassively. "How could you tell?" he said calmly, yet his voice was not in its normal smooth intonation. 

"Maybe you've run me down many times, but I _know_ my intelligence, professor." It was painful watching his face attempt to stay neutral; I had to look away. 

"You read it," he said, hatred and perhaps fear coming into his voice. "You read it and you know..." 

"Not completely," I said. "I don't think I ever will quite know. Another girl who never knew, professor." 

There was a strained silence that left my words hanging in the air, repeating to me. I felt ashamed by the mean nature of my words and resolved to never get the last word in again. 

"You _will_ know," he exclaimed, breaking the silence and leaping out of his chair. "I never thought I would say this–but I know you wouldn't tell anyone–you would be too ashamed." 

He walked intently to where I sat avoiding the sight of him and made me look at him. 

"It wouldn't be fair to tell you," he said _sotto voce_. His face twisted into blazing malice. For a second it faltered–he pleaded, "Couldn't you forget about this?"–and then he calloused himself, staring at me expectantly. 

I stared up at him a great deal intrigued and not at all frightened. Rapt, ready to triumph with knowledge in a startling mystery, I said, "Tell me." 

Eyebrows raised, he scrutinized me and turned away. "Alright," he said, undermining his words with a soft, almost gentle (for him) voice. "Perhaps you shouldn't know, but I did love _you_ once. I don't know why, or what triggered it, but I am not lying." 

I was numb with the impact of his words, a wave of panic rising in me. What I was about to do right now was poignant to the rest of my life, but I didn't think about it. There was a painful, tumour-like feeling in my throat that conspired against me to well my eyes up with tears. 

I ran out of the room, air rushing against the wet streaks running down my cheeks and cooling my burning face. 

The sound of Snape's bitter, pained laughter floated towards me through the open door. I could hear it, again and again, in the silence of my flight; I could imagine his angry, hideous face. 

It was not my choice to stay behind for the Christmas holidays. I would have rather not have; this meant I would be forced to see Snape, would have to think of my embarrassment at his hands. Somehow I had not called him Professor Snape for a long time. 

But Ron insisted, and just kept on _railing_ at me until I felt like hiding in the belly of the giant squid. He said I wasn't like myself and needed more time with Harry and him. Good friend as he was, he was utterly blind to the face that it was Hogwarts weighing me down. I was as bewildered to my sudden desperate need for the mundane as he was. Eventually his persistence convinced me he was right and I did stay. 

I took the opportunity to go to the library. Before disposing of Snape's diary, there was one last thing I had to check. 

Christmas dinner was an almost sombre affair. Somehow Professor Dumbledore had restrained his trademark flamboyancy. I was grateful for the lack of festivity, for it matched my mood. 

The table from which we ate was a long one on which the food was arranged rather badly. In order to reach any given course of the meal, one had to ask someone else to pass it. A constant murmur, requesting gravy and meat, chafed me to no end. Nearing dessert I felt very high-strung. 

Someone leaned over the table, his long shadow obliterating the light on my side of the table. 

"Miss Granger," said Snape coldly, and with more than a touch of his usual hostility, "if you aren't too busy gathering wool, would you hand over the fruitcake?" He did not wish me a happy Christmas. 

I ignored him with a cruel sort of satisfaction, but it only seemed to amuse him. After all, he had only been testing me. 

When I next snuck a glance at him, he was speaking quietly of what the future had in store for him to Professor Dumbledore. To me it seemed unfair that someone like him should be able to have a positive future. If I closed my eyes and didn't recognize his voice, I would think it wasn't a mean, unfeeling man whom childhood had bypassed, but rather a young wizard who still thought himself a protagonist. 

I thought of the motto, stained in blood into the top of every page of his diary. I had been fascinated by it; I had translated it yesterday in the library. 

_Yesterday I loved. Today, I understand. Tomorrow, I will despise._

Staring at him, calm and hateful, I wondered how many tomorrows he had yet arrived at–and whether he still held on to yesterday. 


	2. Default Chapter

The Girl Who Never Knew

The greater part of my holidays was spent studying in the library. It was not because of my marks, which were starting to lose their shine of perfection. What I wanted was to finish all my Potions requirements as soon as possible; I did not think I could stomach any more classes with Snape. I was lucky to be the only one of my peers who could do so, but none of them had been a target of his love.

Although I knew I would sooner or later have to, I dreaded the idea of confronting him. I knew it would have to come eventually–I had nightmares about it–but for once in my life, I procrastinated.

The time in which I had to the library to myself was spoiled. I felt that the rest of my life was as well, a book with still-blank pages stained by horror and disgust. Perhaps someone noticed, and attempted to minister to me. The days made barely a dent in my newfound disquiet. By now I had recoiled within myself, and so was not myself, thinking only of myself.

When the rest of the school came shoving back into the castle, joking and carefree, I could only wince at their lurid happiness.

Of course, classes did start up again. The impersonal, unworried earth still spun no matter if my world had stopped. Many of my teachers said I was changed; my parents said my letters were getting shorter. Snape? He said nothing, but I sensed a stronger undercurrent of cruelty towards me. I desired greatly to be able to leave his class, and I would have–but I never could bring myself to.

I studied secretly, at night, with purloined copies of senior exams. My eyes looked hollow and dark after several weeks. This should have prompted me towards open action. Instead, I felt relieved. Tired, unhappy eyes were not easy to love.

At breakfast one day, I fell asleep in my bowl of porridge and almost drowned. My concerned friends pulled me out, alarmed, making so much fuss I wished I had. It was nearing the Easter holidays, an opportune occasion to drop Potions. The contemptuous, then disappointed, stare of Snape from the staff table clinched the matter.

Just as I was about to rise, Dumbledore did, calling for our attention.

"There will be a new addition to our staff," he announced, "right after Easter. A new professor is coming in to replace Professor Snape–"

He was not able to go any farther. Cheers, applause and a miniature riot broke out in the Great Hall like a Howler and reverberated off the wet roof tenfold. Snape, inert and reserved as he was, looked as if he was silently joining in.

"As I said," said Dumbledore in a raised voice after several gymnasts finished their cartwheels, "Professor Snape is leaving us to be married. We wish him the best of luck with his new life."

We were all silent at this from shock at first. Having read that diary of his, I was the least surprised and therefore the first to garner a reaction.

Standing up, I laughed. My hard, pitiless laugh echoed through the hall, returning to haunt us as I stopped. Everyone was looking at me now, but it was not them who I looked at.

Snape stared back steadfastly at me, his gaze neither angry nor surprised at me. No emotion of his was directed towards anyone.

Perhaps it was his lack of emotion at this cataclysmic event that led me to believe he was ashamed.

I had been about to say something insolent in sympathy for the fiancée, but now it did not come to me.

Shakily, I sat down. All eyes were still on me, and clearly I had made a fool of myself.

There was little to be talked of at the school except Snape's engagement.

"The man's been choosing the Slytherin password for twenty years! What," demanded Draco Malfoy indignantly, "are we expected to do _now_?"

No one had listened to him, but it struck me that being at Hogwarts for twenty years was an empty life for anyone.

The dungeons were the black hole of the castle, sucking in outcasts and hiding them there, reclusive and pale. They had never presented themselves to me so before. Now it began to scare me; what if one day I found myself here? Any excuse for turning back, of course.

But I did keep on going, much to my diminished pride, and at the end I found Snape. As well as someone else.

She was well into her twenties; from my knowledge of history I could sum up her type immediately: the bride, trained from birth to manage a household, sing, embroider, and please. This particular specimen was gaunt, loud-mouthed and meaningless. With limited ability to understand Snape, she had fallen prey to him very easily.

So, Snape had an arranged marriage. My bewilderment at his departure faded away, only to be replaced by scorn. He would have had a long way to fall to reach such a low point.

"Professor?" I said.

The woman with him descended upon me. Snape watched her like a hawk, ready to swoop down and claw her apart at the slightest error.

"Are you one of the _students_? I was _fascinated_ to find out he was a teacher," she enthused. "You _must_ tell me all about it."

"I was a terrible teacher," he said. If he'd had anything to lose he would not have denounced himself. "I hated it and they hated me."

She ignored him determinedly, still too juvenile to understand him yet. He wanted, after all, to browbeat her into maturity.

"What do you want?" said Snape to me. He was not looking at either of us from the hatred he bore towards us. I was relieved. It would be easier to speak without those hopeless, sullen eyes fixed upon me. 

Breath came more easily to me knowing I could still be hated by him. I could phrase my words more bluntly, and said, "I shall tell you what I do not want, Professor, and that is to be in your class any longer."

"Are you a mean teacher?" scolded the bride-to-be, much as a child would have.

"Yes," he said calmly, "I'm terrible. I make them cry." He turned away from her, towards me. "Consider yourself emancipated, Miss Granger."

"The exams?"

"_Go_." It was a whisper, barely spoken at all. He had not wanted her to hear.

As I left, the woman accompanied me. She had an ulterior motive, which seemed to involve not remembering my name.

"Manuela, I must ask you something," she addressed me. "I wanted to get one of the students here to play a part in our wedding."

My heart sank. I wanted no part in this horrendous ceremony. To have to watch two such terrible people become hastily attached to each other would have been to damn them myself.

But really, was that not what I had wished for, some punishment inflicted upon Severus Snape?

"You think about it," she said, and changed her focus very quickly. "Look at this. Two-carat diamonds and pure gold." She brandished her glinting ring in my face, making my strained, red eyes ache.

The ring was massive indeed, an extravagant polyp upon her bony hand (therein lay her pride for it).

It made me think of that accursed diary and the "beautiful, well-received rings" mentioned. The former easily explained the latter fact: a moment of folly, leading to one's excruciating demise.

After several weeks without exposure to Snape, I felt emboldened. My second wind had come into place, and obviously I had not learnt my lesson since I still felt a need to investigate.

For the first time in quite a while, I was venturing down to the dungeons. They had not lost the threatening atmosphere that made you feel as if they were about to ensnare you; neither had Snape.

"Why are you here?" he snapped at me when I came in. "I hoped you had disappeared."

"I'm not afraid of you," I murmured uncertainly. For months I had cowered from him. The disdain I felt for his marriage alleviated this somewhat.

He looked up without comprehension.

"But I never wanted you to be scared of me," he insisted. "I never meant... it was supposed to stay a secret."

He got his bearings back and his expression hardened.

"I still cannot forgive you," he said quietly.

"For what?" I said. "Reading your diary? Finding out who you were?"

"No, not that. I should have expected that." His voice was without its usual edge, and somehow it did not sound as cruel as usual. The woman had been wearing him out too much to keep up his regular heartlessness.

Getting up, he held the door open.

"You never do leave, do you, Miss Granger?" he said. "You may hate me–that much is clear–but you are indefatigable. You keep on returning, always a constant reminder."

I looked at him for a minute and saw he was serious. I had felt resentment towards him for ever shattering my oblivion, yet I had come back for it to happen again. Once again, I came crawling back for more degradation at his hands.

And had we not both received it?

Unobtrusively as I could, I left. I was not invisible enough to avoid coming across that woman again.

"Oh, Heliotrope," she sang, "shall we be a bridesmaid?"

My encounter with Snape was not working in his favour, for I complied with her request. If it should hurt me, it at least would not be as much as it would hurt him.

When I came to her home for information, she was singing at the piano. She had neither talent nor skill, but years of training augmented the lack of either.

"I am _so very glad_ you made up your mind," she said, beaming.

I nodded, saying politely, "You are very musical."

Pleased, she smiled, and launched into the middle of a song.

_"Such joy there was at my wedding on Christmas day in the morning," _she sang, then added to me, "For that is the date I have set, you see. We shall get twice the presents then."

Nodding again, I hailed a house-elf to give me the schedule, on which she was clearly clueless.

"Go into the next room to be fitted," she instructed. "I hope you like the colour pink."

She started to sing once more, yet on my exeunt I stayed near the door, listening.

Again, she repeated the line of the carol, not once, but over many times. It lost its cadence, continuing slowly to rise in volume. Now she was screaming at the room, defying the world–and the groom–to deny her the happiness of her wedding.


	3. Default Chapter

The Girl Who Never Knew 

"You've changed," said Ron, staring past me at the fleeting scenery. "You aren't yourself anymore." Harry, behind him, nodded his agreement. 

I merely stared at them, waiting for their departure. All I wanted right now was to stare out, my face cold and pale from the wind, as the sight of Hogwarts receded. I wanted to see it disappear, to hope I should never have to see it again. It was his fault I had formed horrible memories of Hogwarts–and then he had left, before I could. 

"We're not leaving," said Ron stubbornly, and he planted his arms on his hips. 

I nodded. "Alright," I said softly, "don't." I knew eventually I would bore them and they would grow disgusted with me and leave. It happened to everyone; it had happened to him. 

Turning my back to them, I watched as we moved, whipping away and retreating, teasing me with the promise of the Muggle world. 

When I came onto the train, wild haired and red-faced, there was an owl for me. There was a pink ribbon around its leg as well as a thick letter. 

Opening it, its shimmer dazzled me temporarily. I knew what it was, and was reluctant to see it. 

Resolving to save it for later, I tucked it into my pocket. I would have little cause to wear the heavy, black robes for the entire summer. 

At the station, I caught sight of my parents. They were agitated and very concerned. I did not anticipate the idea of being with these normal, respectable people whom I knew no longer for the summer. Normality and respectability had fallen behind me; or it could have been that I had risen above. Hadn't I wanted the mundane? 

_ 

Sometimes, there is something _slothful_ in one, something that holds one back from the quick, fast, painful thing that must be done. All have felt it; none will extend empathy into another's experience of it, thinking instead: why? What could be stopping them? 

This was the situation I had gotten myself into. Every day, the wedding invitation was there, mocking in its proximity and in my weakness. I did not touch it–I should have, but not until much later, when my mother found it. 

With my parents' involvement, I lost any chance of changing my mind. There could be no turning back now. Was I going to be supervised? Would my outfit being provided? Could I save them a piece of cake? 

Whether I answered is yet to divulge itself to my memory. That summer had come at the beginning of my descent into adulthood... perhaps it was something I was supposed to remember. My life was passing me by, much to my relief, this grave time leaving me unmarked. I did nothing to stop it; actually, I did nothing at all. 

That was not enough for any of them, no. I received frilly scented manifestos, charts clotted with rosy inks and diagrams, all merely to demonstrate where I would stand. I was the only member of the party who was not to attend the rehearsals, for I was expected to be a surprise. Here had I been always predictable, boring even, and I was to be the crowning glory of disclosure. This was more than what I was accustomed to. 

Only one week before the holiday ended did I recall my homework. Though I was uninterested, I forced myself to scramble together several poor essays, much composed from an automatic recitation of the facts. If nothing else, it would be my name that would trigger a good mark for it. My marks were declining, but I remained confident. Memorizing the entire curriculum had proved beneficial in the end. 

I went to shop for my school supplies the next day. Sunday was, I hoped, perfect timing to shop, as most wizards would be immersed in religion for the day. If I did not have to meet anyone, I would deem myself lucky for the first time in months. 

My parents went with me, frightened at what I might do–or, they claimed, what might be done to me. They were themselves avid readers of the _Daily Prophet_ and did not trust wizardry anymore. My father had even talked to me about pulling out of Hogwarts; although I had agreed, my mother had not. 

"You've spent too much time in that place to give up now," she said, her face drawn and tired. "You're giving up so quickly, when there's so much before you. Why now, Hermione? Why have you decided only _now_ to be so difficult? Any other time..." 

The streets were empty, as I had hoped, when we arrived. We bought the books silently, my father abstaining from his customary groans of thrift, and saw no one. 

As we passed the wand shop, someone hailed me from inside and pulled me in. 

I found myself staring into the glowing eyes of Mr. Ollivander. 

"I remember you," he said. "Hermione Granger, four-inch rosewood wand with dragon heartstrings. Destined for great things, yes, if the owner could rise to the challenge. But the owner seems bogged down in sorrow and burden." 

I nodded, and as my parents came in Mr. Ollivander made excuses to them and pointed them in the direction of the pub. Then, he turned to me again. 

"I can't _bear_ to see talent like yours wasted," he said angrily. "I've been watching you–Albus Dumbledore was convinced you needed a new wand and talked to me." 

"No," I said. "There isn't anything I need really." I shook my head timidly as he scrutinized me for some time. 

"I think so," he said gently. "Why don't you tell me about it?" 

And since I didn't even know his first name, I did. 

When I was done, he said nothing at first. Then, he patted me on the back, smiled, and saw me out. 

"My grandson feels the same way," he told me; "Severus has been very confused. I regret you will make destructive choices in your life. It's too late for him now–he's already made his choices–but don't let yourself be forced down with him." 

Upon arriving home, I received a letter from Professor Dumbledore, asking me to confirm my withdrawal from Potions. 

_"Professor Snape has assured me you have passed Potions, but I am somewhat worried at your sudden change in attitude towards your studies,"_ he wrote. 

This time, I was on the ball, grabbing paper as soon as I'd read the letter. 

_Dear Professor Dumbledore: As Professor Snape has said I have completed the Potions course. I felt it was keeping me from reaching my academic potential when I already knew the material. Thank you for your concern, however._

_I am hoping for a change in scenery, as well, to learn magic from different viewpoints. Would I be able to transfer? I am aware this is on short notice, and I am prepared to wait until after the Christmas holidays. With the utmost respect, H. Granger_

On the train, much later, I looked forward to a response, but my hopes were betrayed when one came. Yes, Professor Dumbledore had been kind, but I had expected more than his shock, his readiness to reach out to me, and his reluctant denial of my request. 

It crushed me. I had thought of it only as a change of scenery, but it had grown like a tumour in my head... I was starting to think there _was_ a tumour in my head. This was but an excuse, for I was letting myself slip. It felt better than I would have thought. 

From a Time-turner, I learnt something of time; from the first term of school, I learnt even more. Time was something you were conscious of, passing without notice, something that could leave no mark on you until you embraced it. For me, it drifted and we were one in our aimless pursuing of yesterday, wanting for something that would never come back. We were one in our unattainable tomorrow, for today came quickly but never quickly enough that we could reach out and seize tomorrow. 

No, the days never came at the right speed. I wanted the days to pass quickly, for I wanted to sever my ties with Snape, but I dreaded their coming as his fate drew closer, a noose around his neck. 

_ 

I kept myself perfectly controlled. This was the inevitable happening. This was _now_–I was _here_–and from the impact and gravity of this situation, I found I could not talk. There was nothing to say. 

Coerced into looking nice, my earlier protests could not be defended. I scrutinized myself in a mirror. Snape passed me as I was doing so, and stopped entirely. Whirling about, he grasped me at arm's length. 

"What are you doing here?" he hissed. "I told you to leave me be!" 

"I wanted to see this," I said, "and I'm part of the ceremony. Surprise." My words fell flat, my intended speech by the wayside. I had stayed up at nights, thinking of what I would say, imagining the way his face mutilated itself with an expression of alarm. 

Even I was a mere trifle right now to him, though. He was getting married, and no matter how I tried to bring myself into it I would be, ultimately, excluded. Worry shone through his jaundiced complexion, his eyes focusing elsewhere. I stood, unheeded, and he stalked off. 

A slight, dark woman came out, summoning me to the bridal chamber. 

The soon-to-be Mrs. Snape–such a _horrible_ sound to it, a death rattle if there ever was one–was there, brushing her dull-coloured hair. 

"There you are, Hemlock. You know, I've been to _many_ wizarding weddings, not like you. I can help you with your questions," she said condescendingly. "At least you'll get this out of the experience." She paused to look at me. "There, you look lovely. I am glad you let me manage your hair for you. 

"A wizarding wedding is like this. The couple brings their wands, the procession goes normally, then come the vows and initiation. The wands are a very important part of the ceremony, like a marriage candle. It binds the two." 

Her face was flushed and excited. She'd had a long time to plan her wedding and had not lived her life fully until now. 

"Your part in the ceremony is to hold my train," she announced. "Look at it, pure gossamer silk, rose-tinted, and hand-embroidered." Looking at me expectantly, she waited. 

After some time, I realized the role I was supposed to be playing and found my voice. "But wasn't that expensive?" 

That really pleased her. 

"Well, yes, actually. But I figure Severus can afford it. He is as rich as royalty." Tossing her head, she laughed. "I am lucky to made this match." 

I sighed at her materialism. "What about the rest of him?" I prodded. "Besides his money?" 

Her face screwed up, perplexed by the question. "Besides his money?" she repeated. "My dear, no man is anything without his money." 

Restraining myself from enumerating many of Snape's traits, many uncomplimentary, I nodded listlessly. My mind mocked her for not knowing him as well as I. Gossamer was characteristic of her, as insubstantial and flimsy. 

"Do you know what you are to do?" she asked me. "You may be excused if you do." 

I dropped into a courtesy, for it seemed the right thing to do terminating my visit. Smiling slowly, she tossed me a flower from her bouquet and I tucked it into my hair. 

Guests were beginning to arrive in a steady stream, several looking askance at me. I fled towards the back of the church, where Snape was pacing back and forth. He hadn't noticed me. 

An idea began to form in my head. I took out my wand from my glove, glad to have brought it. 

"_Accio_ wand," I whispered, coaxing his wand slowly towards me. It was hard to do when he was in constant movement. Snape was too wrapped up to realize his wand was being taken, and I did not worry about being caught. 

When it reached my outstretched hand, I slipped it into my other glove. 

There was something clearly amiss in the ceremony when we started. The atmosphere changed quickly from breathless anticipation to snickering curiosity. It was the fault of the accelerated "Here Comes the Bride," and as a result the speedier procession. 

I looked at Snape as we moved down the aisle. Gripping the rail next to him, his mouth fell open, before disappearing into a very thin line. This had not been what he had expected; I thought he would have wanted the traditional ways followed to a rigid extent. 

We exchanged a look of concern as our eyes met. 

It did not take long to reach the front of the cathedral, Snape looking tenser with every step. I smiled at him uncertainly. 

The vows were said, loudly by her, coldly by him (though he seemed amused when called Sebastian), and before they could finalize the marriage, the priest said: 

"If you do not have your wands, we cannot continue. Now it is necessary for you to check that they are on you." 

Severus groped for his wand as his almost-wife whipped out hers. Everyone looked expectantly at him. 

"I–I don't have it," he said, stunned, and repeated it. 

The guests began to murmur. Turning pale, the bride reached out and slapped him. 

Clearing his throat, the priest suggested, "Perhaps we ought to continue this in private once Mr. Snape has found his wand?" 

Wailing loudly, the bride yelled, "_NO_, think of the _presents_, the _supper!_ What have you done? You've ruined everything!" 

With much fuss, the party dissipated quickly, and Snape stormed off to the back again. I followed him. 

"I just wanted to get this over with," he said as I entered. "I wished for something like this to happen, but not like this. What a disaster." Turning towards me, he asked, "What have you thought of all this?" 

He had never asked me my opinion of anything before. 

"Well," I said, but stopped, my words lost. I knew what I wanted to say; the thoughts had been brewing, poisonous, in my head for months. Never had I said a discouraging word to him, yet here he was asking for it. 

A fervent look on his face, he waited. For months, I think, he had needed to know how I felt, withholding himself only for me. Now, here was the moment. What did he have to lose? This was the end of the road for us. We would not be meeting again, depending on what I had to say. In sinking to this level, he was no longer so proud. Snape was optimistic. He knew this was his time. 

Pulling off my gloves, I held out his wand. 

"This is yours," I said. "You probably don't want it anymore." 

Surprised, he shook his head. "No," he agreed. He started to walk away. 

"Wait!" I called. A mass of emotion exploded inside me. I couldn't express that somehow, I felt there was still hope. Together, we could be invincible and change his dismal future... that we didn't have to pull ourselves into catastrophe to escape the other. 

Though he didn't look back, I could see his smile reflected in the mirrors of the chamber. 

"Farewell, Hermione," he whispered. 

_Did I dream you dreamed about me?  
Were you here when I was full-sail?  
Now my foolish boat is leaning  
Broken, lovelorn on your rocks,  
For you sing, "Touch me not, touch me not, come back tomorrow:  
O my heart, O my heart shies from the sorrow"_

_I am puzzled as a newborn child  
I am riddled at the tide:  
Should I stand at the breakers?  
Should I lie with Death my bride?  
Hear me sing, "Swim to me, swim to me, let me enfold you:  
Here I am, here I am, waiting to hold you."_

The owl was unsigned, but needed no name. 

When I received his letter, I was still trying to forget. When I read it, I realized I didn't have to.


	4. Epilogue

The Girl Who Never Knew: Epilogue 

When I received it, beribboned in black, I felt a horrible sense that this was not unlike what I had received several summers before. A macabre sense of humour had made this a monochrome replica of Snape's wedding invitation. That had just been the beginning of the end; death itself was the end. 

His funeral. I was incredulous. Had it not been so very long ago that we had parted ways? Though a week remained until the service, I laid out black clothes, and I waited. Many mysteries had gone unsolved in his death, I was sure. 

I had heard nothing of him other than his owl, which I had hoped meant something, but I knew he had married in the end. Of course being wand-less meant little for him–his family came from wand makers–but I had never wanted to believe it. We had left each other on good terms, and I had expected him not to tread the same dire path. I could not understand why he had. 

Even with a busy week ahead of me, I was suddenly immobile. Perhaps I thought that if I stayed where I was, someone would come to find me. Someone would be able to tell me how such a thing could happen. It was so very _easy_ to believe the death of saints, but Snape had been anything but. How could he, cheated, hopeless, and angry, have been able to slip out of life like this? The chasm of emotion locked within him should have been enough to fend off any illness. 

So even longer I waited, fasting and mourning. Was I the only one to do so for him? I thought so. 

Ron and Harry visited me, the day before the funeral. They wanted to know why I was so depressed. 

"I'm not depressed, just thinking. Did you know that Severus Snape has died?" Annoyed to see them turning to each other with the largest of smiles, I snapped, "It _isn't_ funny." 

Harry looked at me repentantly and smiled. "You're right, Hermione. We shouldn't be celebrating." 

"No, we should...for him." For his stubborn need to hate me, to leave me, for his impatient dreams that never did get fulfilled. It _had_ all been his own fault. 

"You always had too nice an opinion of him, Hermione," said Ron. "You and your authority figures. Why, you'd kiss up to anyone taller than you." 

"Get out," I said. "I am tired of having everyone I love openly scorning me." 

I had a dream that night where my eyes lost focus and the vivid colours surrounding me were blurry. I walked through that bright haze until I bumped into someone taller than me and had to look up. Severus Snape stood there, smiling, laughing at me; I didn't take offence because it was not intended to hurt. He leaned forward to crush me against him, and I complied. Stooping over, he brushed back my hair and whispered in my ear, "Memento mori." Then a kiss. 

He was gone when I woke, comprehension dawning on me, but his words remained. Memento mori: remember you will die. I wished his message had come sooner. Had he become a ghost? Imagining it, I laughed, but my laughter soon turned into hysterics and that soon turned into tears. 

_ 

I had prepared to slip in as an invisible relative, in my drab dark clothes and my tamed, lacklustre hair. The night before had been a sleepless one and I looked so much the worse for it that I should have easily been unnoticeable. However, the first thing I saw at the cathedral was a dark-haired boy on the front steps, weeping his little heart out, and I would not have been able to leave him there. 

"There, there. You have to be good today. What's the matter?" I soothed him. 

"My father," he sobbed. "He's gone, and I don't have anyone else." He reached out to me piteously and I was obliged to take him up. 

"What about your mother, dear? What's your name?" I rocked him in my arms, crooning. 

"Adam Snape," he said. "And mummy's always busy." 

Adam: the first. Snape's arrogance in calling himself God and his confidence in his son was not overlooked by me. Of course he'd had children; had that not been his ultimate plan? From the diary, here with me today, I should have guessed it, but years had passed since my initial reading of it. 

Looking more carefully at the boy, I could see that luck–or his bossy, wilful mother–had intervened in the matter of his genes. His black hair was clean, while his narrow eyes were blue, his nose small and straight. His tear-streaked face caught the light and glowed, and the arms he clung to me with were clad decently. 

A group of women descended upon us right away as we entered. Their gloved hands strangled their handkerchiefs with unsuspected strength. Hats set off their coiffed hair and sun-starved complexion, but shadowed their greedy, appraising eyes. Enough men had fallen under their spell that they could be so well dressed they could not be distinguished from one another. As a woman broke through their midst, they skulked behind her, sniffing and dabbing at their eyes. 

Mrs. Snape was their leader. "Ah, Clytemnestra," she said dramatically. "I have changed so since our paths have last crossed, have I not? Bless you, girl, you look exactly the same, so young and innocent. I see you have my darling with you. Go over to the girls and show him off, would you? They've been dying to see the little Cupid." 

I felt bad handing little Adam off to those harpies, but I obeyed; I wanted answers, and I had just seen Mr. Ollivander across the room. 

Making my way over to him, I was intercepted by a tall woman. She wore no hat, but instead a rueful smile. Her eyes sparkled from the tears that threatened to fall from them. 

"You are here to mourn my son," she said, her voice instilled with tragedy in such a way that the people in her radius were weeping the hardest. 

I nodded. "It was so sudden, wasn't it?" Leaning in, I whispered, "What exactly happened?" 

She leaned in as well, lips set in a painful grimace. "That is what we have yet to learn. One day, he bid adieu to his wife and kissed his children...and he went upstairs." 

With surprise, I asked in hushed tones, "And that was all?" 

Her voice quivered as she spoke. "We are still uncertain of the exact details. Most importantly, _he did not kill himself_, and it was a clean death." 

I nodded, prompting her to say more. 

"The greatest curse is for a mother to outlive her child," she said, "her only son. I can forgive him anything right now, and it is too late. I must bury him." 

The emotion in her voice was a performance to force people to like her son. What else could have done it? If a man's mother does not love him, who will? She had a task of Herculean standards before her; only a Snape would have been up to it. Only a Snape would have had to be up to it. 

I said what I could for her. "He was always a man of great intricacy. We never appreciated him, but I did like him." I may have been lying. 

Her smile, genuine and pleased this time, shone through her mask of tragedy. 

"You will be giving the oratory," she told me. Fearing I would refuse, she departed before I could. 

The chance to define him and lay him to rest excited me. Not only did it challenge me, I wanted to make him sound as if we had liked him. Putting my composing skills to work, I formed a short speech in my head. I praised myself, and later felt ashamed about enjoying myself at Severus Snape's funeral. When everyone was seated, Mrs. Snape called me to the front. 

"Severus Snape was a prominent member of wizarding society," I began. "The generation he went to Hogwarts with was the wave of the future in their time, fighting private wars against themselves and Voldemort. He battled largely himself, dabbling in the Dark Arts at first but later becoming spy for the Ministry, a brave and dangerous task to undertake. He earned the trust of Albus Dumbledore. Every student he has taught has learnt to appreciate Potions, a subject about which he was passionate, and will never forget him." 

I saw Draco Malfoy sitting in the back, nodding and smirking at my last sentence. He flustered me at first, but I cleared my throat and continued, "As a person, he attracted a lot of interest. He acted very abrasive to many–well, most–of us, but he had an irrevocable sense of where our limits lay and only overstepped them when you needed taking down a peg or two. If he was visibly attentive to you, he didn't mean well, but anything great that he did was done quietly, with no hope for accolade. Sometimes he would let unshakeable feelings get the better of him, causing great harm for himself through his stubbornness, but through his passion is the only way he ever lived. He hid a lot from us; he was secretive. Everyone who knew him learnt his character quickly. We all know who he was and what he did." 

My ending was weak, but several people clapped, the sound echoing through the cathedral. I sat back down with a burning face. A requiem wept from the back of the church until we trudged outside to the graveyard. The pallbearers were all young men, none of whom I recognized. 

Adam rushed to my side again, still crying, as we all threw handfuls of dirt into the grave. I did not contribute to the burial, but instead I threw in a diary and a wand. Wizards, I had learnt, must always be buried with their possessions, and it lifted my spirits to give back what I had taken from Severus Snape. 

Draco Malfoy came up to me as everyone was leaving. 

"You did well," he said. "Not exactly honest, but good all the same." He looked down. "We all had hoped to say something ourselves about him–it was a surprise to find a Gryffindor Mudblood here–but you said everything for us." Lifting his head, he smiled at me. 

"What's a Mudblood?" asked Adam in the silence that followed. 

Draco cleared his throat awkwardly. "If your father never told you, I won't." He turned to me again. "I didn't know you knew Snape that well." 

"I was at his wedding," I said. "We used to talk sometimes." 

He nodded. "Hermione... you _know_ we didn't have anything to do with this. I mean, of course the blame falls on the Slytherins but believe me, we would never have done anything to Snape." Blinking, he turned away. "I wish he'd never left Hogwarts." 

"You don't have to explain yourself to me," I said. "His death just happened. It wasn't anybody's fault." 

He nodded, smiled again, and left; whether mourning or not, Draco Malfoy did not want to be seen talking to a Gryffindor. The wind blew around us, pushing us away. 

Adam grasped me even as his mother left, a cloud of black against the silver sky. We stayed rooted to the ground for a long time. Silence fell over the vicinity like a shroud as we stood there, an enticing sign we were the only humans around. We plodded towards the graveyard, to Snape's unmarked grave. I conjured a small fruit tree for us to plant; Snape would have liked having the forbidden fruit of a graveyard grow on his grave. The rain fell later to water it, muddying our clothes where we sat, giving us another excuse not to move. Adam began to fall asleep as the sky darkened later, and I held him close to me to warm him, drawing my clothes over him as a blanket. I rested not at all that night, determined that my consciousness would fulfill an unspoken mission. Only the stars and I remained faithful to Severus Snape, honouring the midnight vigil. 

_fin_

A/N: This is the end of "The Girl Who Never Knew," and there will be no sequel. Thank you to all reviewers.

This story was born only because of the slew of bad HG/SS fics that insisted on mutual, instant attraction ("Wow, her hair smells nice." "Ooh, his lashes are so long and pretty.") I thought, what if one was already out of love with the other one, and they aren't meant to get married [to each other] and have brats? So originally, this _was_ intended as a one-shot parody, but readers enjoyed it, so I guess I had just been too subtle. Hope you liked this too.

BTW, Mrs. Snape the younger isn't exactly dumping her son on Hermione; the boy just doesn't want to go to her.


End file.
